


Werewolves of Lebanon

by Fledhyris



Series: Wolf Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Werewolf Dean Winchester, Werewolf Sam Winchester, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-16 14:02:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18692989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledhyris/pseuds/Fledhyris
Summary: Vignette for Wolf Verse. In which Sam and Dean are werewolves. Not the usual kind we've seen in canon, and they have a high degree of self control.Previously titled 'Into the Woods' but then I kicked myself for not realising the obvious.





	Werewolves of Lebanon

“Aww, damn it!” Dean stares mournfully at his plate, piled high with crispy rashers. “Not bacon, too. It smells like a freaking funeral pyre.”

Sam delicately stabs a talon into a chicken heart, lifts it to his mouth, chews. Ever since they were turned, they can’t stomach cooked food; their basic diet now is raw, bloody meat. Sam’s on board with it. Dean misses his burgers. 

Sam silently pushes the serving platter towards Dean. His brother grumbles, casting sidelong looks of unrequited love at the bacon, but takes a steak.

“Least it’s healthier,” Sam philosophises. Dean’s former diet left a lot to be desired.

Dean curls his lip at Sam and his eyes flash impossibly green.

“Tell you what,” Sam says. “How about tonight, we go for a run. I might even let you catch me this time.” His own eyes flash momentarily orange, laughing.

Dean considers, tearing wolfishly at his steak. The waxing moon will be bright tonight, the woods freshly scented with rain. They might flush a rabbit or two; maybe even a deer. Sam was always the one who liked to exercise, Dean feeling that the regular exertion of a hunt was enough to keep him in shape. But now, the thought of running with his brother through pale lit woods, all his senses singing, makes his muscles twitch in anticipation.

There are compensations to this life, he thinks. He gulps down the remainder of his steak, bats Sam’s hand away to scoop up the last few hearts, tiny and bright as cherries. He grins, sharp teeth stained with blood. Who needs bacon, anyway?

“Okay Sammy. Let’s go howl at the moon.”

**Author's Note:**

> _You hear him howlin' around your kitchen door_   
>  _You better not let him in_   
>  _Little old lady got mutilated late last night_   
>  _Werewolves of (Lebanon) again._   
>  _\- Werewolves of London, Warren Zevon_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> It's okay, they don't really mutilate anybody. The population of Lebanon, Kansas couldn't take it anyhow. It's tiny!


End file.
